


Five Love Languages

by rosegardeninwinter



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, F/M, Free Verse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mockingjay!Prim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardeninwinter/pseuds/rosegardeninwinter
Summary: "he asks if she wants to play chess. she smiles wryly because aren’t they always?" an exploration of the five love languages (quality time, gifts, words of affirmation, touch, and acts of service) in a world where Katniss and Peeta are both captured out of the Quarter Quell and made mouthpieces for the Capitol
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 73





	1. Five Love Languages

_time_

slows. stops. the arena explodes just as he crashes into her, knocking her to the ground. her ears ring and her eyes sting. she can feel her heartbeat in her mouth. feel arms (his) (and not his) (metal clamps) (a cage for birds) hoisting them into the air. and the unforgivably selfish part of her is glad, unspeakably glad, that he is with her. blood trails down the spindles of her fingers in a ribbon. a sweetheart ribbon. like back home. they’re never going back home, are they? her pulse accelerates. everything speeds up again.

_things_

they don’t have information. but that never concerned Snow anyway. she thought Gale’s punishment in the square was unbearable. then, she wouldn’t back down. now, she begs and begs and begs to obey. and when they can’t stand anymore, the reprieve comes. compliance is a gift. with compliance comes bandages and balm and their first sip of water in days. then clothes made of satin and tule. then rosy, camera ready makeup. they are soft. they float. they are beautiful. and banal. locked up in the penthouse of the training center until they’re wanted. there are worse prisons, the president reminds them. “be good” in the pinch of her cheek. “be good” in the pat of Peeta’s shoulder. she nods. he bites his lip. they’ll be good. they’ll be very good. they’ll be the best.

_talk_

Prim’s voice is clear as a bell. like the bell at the end of a miner’s shift calling everyone up to the surface to breathe the fresh air again. “the time has come,” she cries out, in red, like a crimson bird, holding a snapping banner aloft, “for Panem to sing its own song!” and a day later Peeta stands in a white room and urges the people of Panem not to listen to this young traitor. “she doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he proclaims, tight lipped verbatim from the cards they gave him, “she is being used.” Katniss whimpers from behind the camera, where a gun is held to her throat. just in case Peeta gets any ideas about dissenting. he doesn’t.

_touch_

she feels out of it. rebel propaganda punctures the thin skin of Capitol lies she is made to regurgitate. but it cannot feel the pain. she feels the press of bodies against hers at another party and another party and another. as if people aren’t burning in the districts. she eats too much and throws up in the fountain. but at least no one wants to dance with her after that. she takes a cold bath when they’re safely shut up in their new home. and shivers uncontrollably after, no matter how tight Peeta wraps her in his arms.

_tenderness_

she watches him straighten her shoes by the door. such a simple thing. insignificant, really. but it makes her want to cry. “we’ve given them so much,” she says. “we can’t stop,” he says. and they can’t. they give. it’s who they are. (bread. a second chance. a hero’s burial. a song.) but tonight they give to each other. and for the first time, they get something back. (a catch of breath. a strange beat of laughter. a touch. a gasp. a welcome. a rhythm. a plea. a reply. a peak. and then a fall.) she says “I love you” in the way she smoothes his damp curls away from his eyes. he says “I love you” in the hand that tugs the covers up over her side.

they sleep. for an hour. and when they wake the power has gone out all over the city. they don’t know why. but they suspect. they light a fire. he asks if she wants to play chess. she smiles wryly because aren’t they always?

they take it as a good sign when the little red queen captures the tall white king. and try not to think about the discarded piles of pawns.


	2. Five Love Languages Outtake: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is an outtake written in the 5LL universe for the tumblr prompt [kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap] but I figured it made sense to have all the 5LL content in one place; this story takes place midway in the original 5LL, between "time" and "touch" - enjoy!

I run a bath. I watch the water against the porcelain as it rises to the lip. I strip out of my clothes and leave them on the floor. My shoulder stings as I rotate and I gasp in pain. Bring my fingers up to touch one of the razor thin red lines that run from my mid back to my neck. They left them. They could have polished them back to dusky satin. They didn’t — as a reminder. I decide I don’t want a bath. I dunk my hand deep and pull the plug. I leave my clothes on the floor. Return to our lavish suite where Peeta is already in bed. He sits with the blankets pooled around his stomach. His back bears the same scarlet striations mine does. Makes me think of sweetheart ribbons. It didn’t hurt any less for knowing it was coming, when they lifted us from the arena, tore the tattered clothes from our bodies, wrenched us open, and made us theirs.

I climb in beside Peeta. Sit next to him. I brush my lips lightly against top of his spine, his curls, the soft patch of skin behind his ear. I feel the tension in him ease.

“Thought you were taking a bath,” he says. Weary.

“Changed my mind,” I say. Just as.

Peeta sighs. It’s choked. Tight.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He shakes his head and I hear a sob break from his throat.

“I want — ” He laughs, a strained sound. “I can’t believe I’m saying this — ”

“Peeta.” I caress his lower back, where there are fewer sore places. “What is it?”

“I want my mom.”

I bite my cheek and think of lavender soap and that softly chiding voice and the girl in me who is not much older than eleven and wondering why her Mama won’t hold her, aches more than the residual anger, and I know how Peeta feels. I crawl into his lap and press my forehead to his. “I want mine too,” I say. I nuzzle his temple, leave a kiss there. “I want — home.”

“We’re never going to see home again, are we?” he whispers. It’s more resigned than dejected. This room is most definitely bugged, but it doesn’t matter. Snow knows we hate him. Snow knows we’ll still do whatever he says.

“Probably not,” I say. “No. I don’t think so.”

He nods. We sit in silence. His thumbs rub circles on my hips. I scratch the back of his neck gently. At last, he takes a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” he says. He bumps his nose against mine, kisses me, very lightly. “You were always what I liked most about home anyway.”

“It’s not okay,” I say. “We don’t have to say it is. Nothing about this — ” I kiss a bruise at the corner of his mouth that you don’t normally see under all the makeup they put on us “— is okay. But — ” I set my hand against his heart, grateful for its beat. “This can be home now.”

“This?” he’s incredulous. He thinks I mean our prison. I shake my head. “No. This,” I say. I cradle his cheek. “This.”

“Oh.” His lips give the faintest hint of a twitch. He turns his head to kiss my palm.

“If that’s alright with you?” I ask. _So you’ll allow it?_ I think. Was that day on the roof only a month ago? I thought I would die for him.

“That’s alright with me,” he says. _I’ll allow it._

No one has put forth the idea of us getting married yet, though I’m sure it’ll come up eventually, in one of those briefings where they cram propaganda down our throats and make us regurgitate for a camera in front of a Panem that considers us traitors now. Well, let them. We couldn’t betray each other. I can’t begrudge him for bargaining for my life with the promise of lies. I did the same thing. There’s only so long you can listen to someone you love scream.

_Love._

It’s funny, we’ve never brought it up, what happened on the beach. What we said. What it meant. That seems understood here, skin to skin in the dark, too numb to be embarrassed, too heartsick not to know there’s no unraveling our fates now. We vowed ourselves to each other, only to each other, when we sold our images and voices for the other’s safety.

I need him, and he needs me, and maybe that makes us unforgivable (I know it does) but I don’t care. Who else and what else do we have left? My sister burns through Panem like a phoenix from one of my father’s stories. I hope when the smoke clears she finds us in the ashes. I hope she takes what’s left of us back to 12, but I hope she’ll know we were already home.


	3. Five Love Languages Outtake: Wild and Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another outtake from the 5LL universe, set immediately after the end section of the original 5LL, "tenderness" - enjoy!

the power has been out for hours. but no one has come to check on them. they play two rounds of chess (he wins both). the candles burn low. he pulls her into his lap. she sets her head on his shoulder. he strokes her back with gentle fingertips. she yawns. he lays her down on the bed. props himself up on his elbow to look down at her. traces her lips and her nose. she catches his hand. holds it against her heart. he feels her breath rise and fall as she sings to him.

_way away river away_

_run river run to the sea_

_I’ve never seen it_

_I’ve only heard_

_they tell me it’s wild and free_

“that’s beautiful”

“Pa said it was one of his Ma’s favorites”

_way away wind blow away_

_blow away wind through the trees_

_out to the forest_

_beyond the fences_

_they tell me it’s wild and free_

“can you teach me?”

she smiles and nods. “it’s a simple tune. try it.”

he runs his fingers down her breastbone to her navel as he sings. it’s quiet and more talking than singing, but she gives a shuddering sigh at his voice and his touch. she harmonizes as the candles sputter out and the faint lights of houses and apartments with generators or battery lights can be seen through the window.

_way away song find a way_

_carry my melody_

_notes on a whistle_

_notes from a window_

_song be you wild and free_

a cold dawn falls over the city. she brushes her hair and he rubs cream on her scars. she rubs cream on his. no one has come to get them. or feed them. or anything. the pantry in the penthouse has some things to eat. they make a breakfast of candy and dried fruit. and when the sun rises and no one comes to get them they climb back into bed. crawl under the covers. melt into each other’s arms.

“you’re warm” she says and kisses him

_way away love fly away_

_fly away love, come to me_

_follow the wind, love_

_follow the river_

_follow my song, come to me_

they fall asleep with the song between their mouths and wake to night again. and no one has come to get them. for the first time in a month. no cameras. no script. nothing.

the dark stretches on for hours. but there is something tense about it. poised. a knife’s edge.

“what’s going on?” he whispers.

“I don’t know” she breathes. “I don’t like it”

the words have scarcely left her lips when the television gives a loud pop and a high pitched squeal that makes them jump. the lights don’t come on. the fridge doesn’t hum. just the television. static. then an image. Finnick. standing in a circle of lights.

“pay close attention” their friend says.

but she understands something else in it. “that’s not for us” she says. “that’s a distraction”

“what’s for us then?” he says. right as the air vent above their heads clatters to the floor and a soldier in all black drops into the penthouse.

“up” he says urgently. “get dressed.”

they don’t need a second telling. two more soldiers emerge from the vent and station themselves at the door. the captives scramble into clothes and shoes. Finnick continues spinning his stories onscreen.

“who are you?”

“where are we going?”

“soldier Gale Hawthorne” says the man and there’s a faint hint of relieved humor in his tone as Katniss gapes “I’m here on behalf of the Mockingjay”


	4. Five Love Languages Outtake: Tryst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for the prompt [sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss] — set during “touch” in the original story, Katniss and Peeta chance a moment of respite from a Capitol party

“Katniss.” The hand at her waist makes her jump and slosh her glass of punch.

“Just me,” Peeta murmurs reassuringly against her bejeweled ear. “Just me.”

She lets her shoulders sink back against his chest, never minding the dozen or so Capitolites who sigh dreamily at the sight of them. She drops her head against his suit, lolling back in exhaustion, and he neatly covers for her by kissing her down her throat in an openly unabashed way, making people gasp and turn away giggling. She mentally thanks him for the brief respite as she closes her eyes and catches her breath.

“There’s a garden,” he breathes. “Found a gate out to it. I don’t think they’ll miss us for ten minutes.” 

She nods and he takes her hand. Leads her past all the glittering and feathered party guests in various states of inebriation, down a darkened hallway lined with mirrors, and out a small door to their host’s garden.

It’s strangely beautiful, and eerily foreign in its beauty, the verdant flowers under the city glow. The water feature that flows down shimmering mosaic terraces. Everything is lit with purple and blue neon, giving it an otherworldly effect.

She sinks down beside the water and trails her hand through it. He sits behind her, one step up, and pushes aside her intricate hairdo to reveal where the red tail of an old (not so old, it was only two weeks ago, but it feels like years) wheal peeks out, rubbing uncomfortably against the high neck of her dress. He loops his fingers in the neck of her gown and tugs it away from her skin, letting the cool night air soothe her discomfort.

After a moment she turns to face him. Kisses him once, twice, three times, in gratitude. Then she undoes his tie, unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt. It looks like the top of his collarbone are sunburnt, but she knows better. She winces a little. His shirt is more abrasive against their injuries than her dress. She inhales a breath, then blows cool air very softly over his heated flesh. He gives a sigh of momentary relief as she does it again.

“Don’t get lightheaded, Katniss,” he warns.

“I won’t,” she says. She stops after a moment. He holds out his arms and she sinks into them, her head against his heart, legs draped in satin, draped down the terrace.

The music inside changes a few times. Vehicles make noises in the streets below. The sound of loud laughter and shattering glass comes from somewhere. It’s like these people don’t even know what’s going on in the Districts.

 _Well_ , she thinks, _they probably don’t._ Just like they probably think the Star Crossed Lovers are here of their own volition

She sputters out a weary raspberry, the kind of noise her father would make after a long day at work. She feels Peeta laugh very slightly against her and a ghost of a smile flits across her face. 

“Ready to go back?” 

“Are we quite done with our clandestine tryst?” she laments. “We could stay here longer. If you just - ” She ruffles his hair. “Make it look — you know.” 

He doesn’t protest this. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah.” He unclips a few of her hairpins as she pinches her cheeks to make them look redder. “Good idea.” 

She brushes her finger against his nose gently. “I’ve been known to have them.” 

“I know.” 

He cups her chin in his hand and kisses her, comforting and sure. She curls back up in his arms again, closes her eyes, and lets the sound of the water and the feeling of his presence carry her away from the Capitol, if only for a moment, and far up into the wild, wild woods of 12.


	5. Five Love Languages Outtake: Lashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set shortly after “things” in the original; Peeta wakes up to Katniss in pain; small warning for torture aftermath nastiness

I come to suddenly, unsure of what has woken me. From my lying position on my stomach, my face half pressed in the pillow, I scan my surroundings. The room is dark. There’s no one here, no guards or handlers. It’s quiet, save for the drone of the distant city, of the fancy icebox, and — 

_Oh._

She must be trying not to wake me with her tears, her half sobs choked back as shuddering breaths. Her back — red ribboned — is to me, but I can see the flex of her shoulders as one hand grips the sheets, twisting the fabric into knots between her knuckles. Her legs rub together, that kind of anxious writhing friction you do to distract yourself from greater pain. I feel my heart splinter, and I roll over to cradle her from behind, careful to avoid contact with her sensitive skin, and press my nose into her hair, place a hand on her hip. 

She gasps, and then, because I’m clearly awake and there’s no point holding back now, she starts crying in earnest. I’ve only known her to cry a handful of times in the year and a half we’ve known each other, and every time makes my pulse pound in a panic for her. 

“What is it, Katniss?” I murmur, pressing kisses against her temple. “What can I do?” 

She heaves a trembling inhale. “My back hurts. Really hurts.” 

I wince. The Capitol whips are unlike any I saw under Thread. Electrical, razor thin, almost elegant, and not breaking the skin so much as slicing it, leaving pencil thin lacerations that are more subtle but more awful than an old fashioned beating. I don’t dare touch them, even to try and soothe her—mine don’t hurt right now, but I know the stinging, acid feeling—so I run my hand along her front, breastbone to stomach, and back up again. She shudders and puts her hand over mine as it travels up and down. I breathe cool air over her shoulders as I turn her onto her stomach and sweep her hair out of the way. 

“Okay,” I say, ”Okay. We need some kind of — like a snow coat. Let me get you something cold.” 

I scramble off the bed and beeline for the icebox. No real food of course. We get that if we’re good. There’s only green bottles of some fizzy alcoholic drink in there, and some ice cream, Capitol frivolities — but there is an ice maker. I pull the full tray out with a sharp yank — then I go to the bathroom, grab a towel, and soak it in the sink, ringing it out until it’s damp. 

Katniss whimpers when I drape the wet towel out over her back, but it’s a whimper of relief and her body sinks slightly into the mattress. I scoop up handfuls of ice, cupping them in my palms to start them melting, and set them atop the towel. Cold rivulets run down Katniss’s sides, drenching the sheets, but I don’t care. 

I stretch out beside her again as her breathing starts to steady and the tears run softer down her face. I rest my forehead against hers and her hand reaches up to light against my cheek, absently caressing. She closes her eyes and I close mine too. 

“Better?” I whisper after a moment. 

“Much,” she sighs back. 

“Katniss,” I say, as I feel myself starting to drift, “wake me up next time, okay? I didn’t volunteer to go through this alone.” 

“I know,” she breathes. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Peeta.” 

I open my eyes and kiss the frown from her brow. “Don’t apologize, Katniss. Not for this — not ever. I just ... just wake me, okay?” 

“Okay.” She kisses my mouth. “You too. Wake me, I mean. Promise?” 

“Yeah.” I agree. “Yes, I will.” 

“Stay,” she mumbles sleepily. “Stay here.”

I laugh softly. This is just like that night with the sleep syrup. “Where would I go?” I say. I can’t go anywhere, of course. But I wouldn’t want to. My place is with her, wherever she is. Anything else is unthinkable. 

“No,” she says. “I mean — ” Her hand threads in my hair, gently scratching my scalp, holding me to her. “Right here. Where I can keep you safe.” I blush, even now. 

“Always, Katniss,” I say. 

“Always,” she repeats on a yawn and she falls back into a merciful sleep. I nestle my nose closer against hers, and let cloudy, half formed dreams of a happier moment just like this one cradle me like a lullaby. 


	6. Five Love Languages Outtake: Sweethearts Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set during "talk" in the original; shock collars, showers, sweetheart songs, sadness and sweetness

He shouldn’t be used to having a shock collar at his throat, but he’s becoming alarmingly numb to it, on this merry go round of get up, get scoured down and decorated, stand in front of a camera, make speeches, go out, pretend to have fun at parties, sleep fitfully, do it again, get food if you’re good. At least they’re not being tortured anymore. And at least — well, he’s heard rumors, things about “what a victor goes for” murmured around the hors d’oeuvres. He imagines he and Katniss could go for a lot: double, triple, too much, and never enough for what would be stolen from them. At least Snow seems more interested in keeping them under lock and key than gifting them out. Too dangerous, for people to get too attached.

He sighs and leans back in the chair where he sits, right in Katniss’s view as she denounces her sister in scathing terms. The guard holding the shock remote glares at him, but Peeta raises his eyebrows in a silent, “calm down — I’m not doing anything.” He knows he’s being stupid, but as the guard turns away, some part of him that is more his mother than his father possesses him to mutter “jackass” under his breath.

Immediately, he regrets it. Pain lances up his spine into his skull, pulsating in his nerves. The only thing he can compare it to is being stung by a thousand tracker jackers at once, his breath supply cut short and his limbs jerking. It’s over in a second and he falls forward in his chair, catching his elbows on his knees and cradling his own face, trying to quiet his heaving gasps. If they pick the sound up on camera, they’ll punish him again. He can distantly hear Katniss’s voice rise in pitch and speed, the note of panic for him evident even as she says “the rebels have no sense of mercy, no sense of honor or compassion.” He raises his head and shakes it weakly to tell her he’s fine, but as soon as the shoot is done she rushes to him, yanking the collar off as soon as the guard unlocks it.

“Are you okay?” she frets, touching his red throat with careful fingers as they’re taken back to their quarters, she held under his arm like always, her hand against his chest.

“Isn’t the worst I’ve had,” he shrugs, though he feels lightheaded. “Lots worse.”

She nods. She knows. She’s had worse too. But as soon as they’re shut back in the penthouse she goes to the bathroom and runs the shower. He leaves his suit crumpled on the floor by the door and follows the trail of her dress and jewelry to find her checking the temperature.

It’s probably the best part of their captivity, these moments, when they hold each other under the warm, rush of the water, like standing in a summer rain. He steps in, fumbles with a button on the side of the tile wall that makes the bathroom go dark except for a soft purple glow in the shower itself. It’s for ambiance or something ridiculous like that, but it takes them out of it, for a moment, this madhouse they live in.

She scrubs all the makeup from her face with rapid swipes of her palms, smearing her mascara and lipstick. He picks out the only soap they can stand, something that smells like honeysuckle, and they help each other wash the day’s sweat and sick feeling away.

When they’re finished, he takes her in his arms under the water and they sway slightly as if in a dance, heart rates slowing, breathing easing.

“What did you do?” she murmurs after a while. He smoothes his hands down her body, soft, save for the raised ridges on her back. “To make him do that?”

“Called him a jackass,” Peeta says, almost laughing. She does laugh, a fond, exasperated sound.

“You idiot,” she says, and she might as well have called him a pet name the way she says it. “I’m glad you did. He is a jackass.”

They’re quiet again. The water doesn’t grow cold. There isn’t really any point in getting out, not at least until his leg starts to act up or they start to prune. Their conversation feels more secret here, even if it isn’t.

“Sing me something,” she says.

He smiles incredulously. “Me? Sing you something?”

“Change of pace,” she yawns. “It can be anything.”

He considers for a moment. Most of the songs he knows are ones she taught him. But then, just as he’s about to tell her he isn’t sure he can, something comes to him.

“Do you remember . . . I think it was in second grade, when you were out for a week sick?”

She smirks. “You really did remember everything.”

He shakes his head. “No — I only remember because they taught us a song in music and I memorized it for you. I had grand plans to teach it to you if you wanted to learn it when you got back. But we moved on to something else by then.“

Her eyes are soft and amused. “Teach it to me now?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “It’s really simple, kind of silly.”

He hums to get the tune, then starts —

_hey little daisy_

_peeking towards the sun_

_do you know it’s sweethearts day?_

_won’t you be my one?_

_hey little bluebell_

_trade the rain for sun_

_do you know it’s sweethearts day?_

_won’t you be my one?_

Katniss hums along to the second stanza, her features oddly peaceful in the violet light, nestling as close to him as she can, pressing herself against his skin like she wants to fall into him. He knows the feeling. He kisses the wet crown of her head. The last stanza should be about asters, but —

_hey little katniss_

_beauty in the sun_

_do you know it’s sweethearts day?_

_won’t you be my one?_

“I’d be honored,” she whispers half playfully, but he thinks there are tears in her eyes when she looks up at him, love and pain — and he would give anything to have asked her to dance before now, just once, at home, as free as you can be in Panem, under the shadow of the blue hills. She perches on her tiptoes and kisses him, tenderly, then wipes her eyes. He traces the shell of her ear comfortingly as she adds, with a shaky laugh, “Took you long enough to ask.”


End file.
